New Beginnings
by sjanes
Summary: What if Ana had lost the baby after Jack Hyde attacked her? This is a continuation story that explores what Ana and Christian's relationship might be like had the baby not survived. How will they handle such a tragic loss, and can Ana ever forgive Christian for the way he reacted when she told him she was pregnant in the first place?
1. Chapter 1

**It's been a hot minute since I've written any fan fiction. Do people still say "a hot minute"? I do. Anyways, I'll keep this short and sweet. After watching the recently released Fifty Shades Freed, I found myself wondering what might have happened had Ana lost the baby after Jack attacked her when he kidnapped Mia. I also remember wondering this when I read the books as well.**

 **It's been a while since I read the books. I'll try to keep references to them as true as possible, but I'm not making any promises.**

 **Simply, I just decided it was time to get this idea out of my head put it out there. Maybe it will be good, maybe it won't, but it's better published than left wasting away on my laptop I suppose.**

 **Enjoy!**

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Everything is dark. It's almost as if I'm dreaming, but there are sensations in my body that feel too real for it to be a dream. I can hear faint sounds around me. Voices, I think, and a constant beeping noise; like on a phone, or a computer maybe? I'm awake, I know I am, but I can't seem to open my eyes. I try to concentrate. The voices, I notice, seem distant actually, not so close, but like the muffled sounds of conversations happening in another room. I feel as though I'm closer to consciousness now, but it's still dark. If I were truly awake, wouldn't I sense some sort of light? I'm tired and weary, and I feel a bone deep ache radiating throughout my entire body, and then suddenly, my eyes flicker open as I feel a sharp pain in my abdomen.

Slowly the room around me comes into focus. I'm confused for a moment still, as I take in my surroundings. My neck feels stiff, and I'm almost scared to move it, so the only visual clues I can take in are those that are already in my line of sight. There's a window with the blinds drawn in the distance, and I can see now that there is a faint light shining from behind them. Early morning perhaps, or sundown? In front of the window is a table with one or two tasteful flower arrangements, and one large one that is quite extravagant but still beautiful. It's hard to discern the colors and type of flowers in the dark, but the size of the arrangement is distinguishable enough to tell that it's much larger than the other ones. There are also a few cards scattered on the table top as well. As I become more aware, the sound of the beeping registers again and I realize then where I am. I turn my head even more to the left with a slight wince and look up to see the monitor tracking my heart rate, and then follow the line of tubing down to where it's connected to my arm.

 _Why am I in the hospital?_

I turn my head to the right this time, noticing first the open door leading out into the hall; the source of the muffled voices. I squint as my eyes adjust to the harsh fluorescent lighting drifting in through the open doorway. Then, after acclimating to the change in brightness, I notice him.

He's so close, I don't know how I didn't see him first, but he is cast in shadow, backlit by the light from the hall. Still, my eyes have adjusted well enough now that I can see it's him. He looks exhausted, dark circles framing his closed eyes, and a shadow from what looks like a couple days worth of not shaving covers his jaw line and and circles his mouth. His mouth, is dry, as though he hasn't been eating or drinking.

 _How long have I been unconscious?_ _Why was I unconscious?_

Feeling suddenly anxious and confused again, I instinctively reach out my hand for his. I've barely grazed the tip of his fingers and his eyes snap open and immediately are directed towards mine.

"Anastasia." My name escapes his lips in a strangled sigh. I can almost hear the tears in his voice, and look to see if he is crying, but my view is suddenly blocked by his body standing and moving over me to pull me into his arms. He's gentle, aware of the tubes and wires I'm attached to and my frail condition, but I can still sense the desperation and longing in the tenseness of his hands on my back. "Oh, god, Ana."

This time, without even seeing his eyes, I am sure he is crying. _He is crying._ He is trembling. I am trembling. I didn't realize until he pulls away and I can still feel the tremors which must be my own.

"Christian," I try to say his name, but it sounds more like a croak. My mouth is very dry and my throat is sore from lack of use, or maybe a tube. Had I been intubated?

"Shh, Ana," Christian hushes me as he brushes some stray bangs out of my eyes. "Let me get you some water."

Instinctively I reach out and grab his wrist. "No, don't leave me." I sound desperate I know. It's not something I'm used to, but I'm still feeling anxious and a little muddled. _Why am I here?_

"It's ok," He reassures me, turning to the table next to the chair he was sitting in. "It's right here." He grabs a pitcher and pours some water into a clear plastic cup. "There's no ice though. I'd have to leave for a moment if you'd like some." He raises his brow in question as he turns back and hands me the cup.

I shake my head and take a tentative sip.

"Good," he says firmly, "because I'm not feeling so inclined to leave your side just yet." That unwavering power and authority is there in his voice, but his eyes say something much different. Sadness? Fear? Relief?

Silence falls between us as he watches me carefully as I finish my cup of water. I'm sure he would have been more than happy to demand I finish it, had I not, but lucky for him I was feeling quite parched. Or unlucky, perhaps, if he was hoping for some defiance. In the beginning he didn't like my disobedience, but now I know it's more of a turn on than anything else; depending on the situation.

"Oh, god," I gasp, the thought of my disobeying him suddenly bringing memories flooding back.

 _Jack Hyde. Mia and the money. Telling Christian I was leaving him. Jack attacking me. Shooting Jack! The Baby!_

"The baby!" My hand reflexively goes to my abdomen. _The sharp pain I'd felt!_ I wasn't even close to showing yet, so there's no visual difference to tell me whether or not anything has happened, but when my eyes flicker up to meet the pain reflected in Christian's, I know. "No," I sob, my head immediately falling as I close my eyes and weep, wrapping my arms around myself.

"Ana," I hear him mutter, pained, and I expect to feel his arms wrapping around me as well, but then I remember that he hadn't been happy about the baby in the first place. I glance up and though I realized he doesn't share in my despair over losing the baby, I'm shocked to see him leaving the room. Suddenly, I feel exhausted and overwhelmed by my emotions. I'm angry at him, I'm angry at myself, I'm heartbroken. I roll over onto my side, curl into a ball, and sob into my pillow until sleep takes me.

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 **Until next time.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2, already? What?! I'm so impressed with myself.**

 **Enjoy!**

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When I wake, I'm still a little disoriented, but it doesn't take me as long this time to remember where I am, and why I'm attached to a machine that's incessant beeping is really rather annoying. I've seen nurses hit a button before that turns the sound off, so I attempt to sit up to see if I can find it myself, but as I start to reach up, a voice from behind startles me.

"Please, don't," Christian's voice is soft but strained. "I find it comforting. It reassures me that you're okay."

I turn to him, confused at first, but then realize he is talking about my heart beat. The beeping is mirroring my heartbeat, and he wants me to keep it on because it eases his nerves. His desire to keep me safe is never-ending. I almost want to reach up and turn it off anyways, to defy him, and not because I think it will turn him on, but because I am still upset that he left the room earlier when I found out I'd lost the baby, and because he didn't want it in the first place. I decide against it however, not really in the mood to argue. I turn away from him to look out the window, but the blinds are still drawn. I notice also that there's no light emitting from behind them now. It must be late.

The silence that falls between us is deafening, but I don't know what to say to him. I'm still hurting, and I'm afraid that if I talk, I'll just start crying again. So, instead, I let my attention fall to the cards and the flower arrangements, and as I try to guess which one's are from who, I realize that we hadn't even told anyone else yet that I was pregnant. _Do they know now?_ Did Christian tell them, or were any of them here when the doctor gave Christian the news that we'd lost it? Maybe they don't know at all. I wasn't sure at that moment which scenario I preferred. If they knew, there was likely to be a rushing of sympathy coming our way, and I wasn't sure I could handle anyone telling me anytime soon that they were sorry for our loss, especially considering that it was really only my loss. Christian is likely relieved to be rid of the burden. I flinch instantly at the thought. Not because I think he could be so callous, but at my own dark thoughts for thinking him so cruel. Christian has a good heart and is very loving. He shows it in odd ways sometimes, but I know deep down that he could never be so cold hearted. Still, he had made it pretty clear that he hadn't wanted the baby in the first place, and then left me to grieve alone when I found out after only having just woken up in the hospital.

"Ana," Christian calls my name softly, likely afraid to set me off. "Where's that head of yours? Come back to me." It's a desperate plea. I know he hates when I ignore him, and if my own thoughts are all over the place right now, I can't even imagine what he must be thinking. He is usually the one with the penchant for overreacting and letting his mind wander, taking him to dark places. "I love you so much. I was so scared I was going to lose you."

 _But not the baby_ , I think, and my eyes begin to tear up. I keep my head turned towards the window, knowing that if I look at him I will break down again. I know it would be hurtful to say it out loud but I can't hold it in. "But not the baby," I say, my mouth quivering as I repeat my thoughts.

"What?" He practically growls, his voice raising quite a few octaves, but then he lowers it when he continues, likely not wanting to raise alarm and draw the attention of the nurses. "Ana, I–" he falters. "–how could you think that? I'm devastated."

Suddenly the room seems to grow darker, but then I realize it's because he is suddenly in front of me, blocking my view. He grabs both of my hands in his and drops down to his knees. His head drops to the bed, his hands trembling as they hold mine tightly. When he raises his head, the look in his eyes and the sight of the tears streaming down his face nearly knocks the breath out of me.

"I'm so sorry, Ana," he says on a deep trembling sigh. "I said some things, some awful things. I'm appalled by my reactions and will regret them for the rest of my life. I've sat here for the past three days wanting so much to take back what I said and what I did. I don't know if anything I say to you will ever make up for it, but you must know," he pauses drawing in a breath as his grip on my hands tightens. His gaze intensifies as if he is willing me to believe him. "You must know, that I would never have wished for you to lose the baby."

Tears are running down my face now, matching his own. I raise my hand to his face, caressing his cheek, and wipe away some of his tears.

"Ana," he says as he moves quickly to get in the bed beside me and pulls me into his side as I bury my face and weep into his chest. His hands caress my hair and my back, rubbing soothing circles and whispering softly that he has me, and that everything is going to be okay. I'm not sure who he is trying to reassure more, me or himself, but either way, just being near him and feeling him holding me tight is comfort enough to calm my tears and slow my breathing.

I'm still not so sure I believe him. I don't want to think that way, but the thought is still nagging at the back of my mind. He is just placating me. I do believe that he was scared he would lose me, and he's likely so happy that he didn't that he might say anything right now just to make me happy and keep us from arguing. Even in my own mind, I feel as if I sound cynical and disparaging, but the things he did and said when I'd first told him I was pregnant really hurt me. It was one thing for him to not want the baby, I was fairly prepared for that reaction, but to insinuate I should get an abortion without discussing things further with me, and then to run off to his Mrs. Robinson; it broke my heart, that he ran to her instead of me.

After a few minutes, when I feel as though I can speak without crying again, I ask him why he left me in the room alone earlier.

"What?" I can feel him pull back, but I am comfortable with my head on his chest and don't want to move, when he realizes, he puts his arms around me again and continues to rub my back.

"After I realized I'd lost the baby, you left." I sniff, trying hard not to start crying again. I feel so emotional, but I suppose it's normal after such a tragic event. "I needed you and you just left the room."

"God, Ana, is that what you thought?"

I pull away this time and adjust myself so I am still nestled by his side, but can look up into his eyes. I nod.

"Jesus… fuck." He lifts his hand and drags it over his face. "You really think I would just leave you like that? After you'd just found out that–" He pulls back more, moving his hands to my shoulders as he searches my face. When I don't say anything, he pulls me back into his side. "I only left for a minute or two to find the nurse to let her know that you were awake, but asked her to give us some privacy for a little while. I didn't want anyone to disturb us in that moment. I had planned to come back in and crawl in bed with you, to hold you in my arms as you wept, just as we are now, but by the time I'd come back, you had already fallen back asleep."

Just then, as if she could sense what we were discussing, the nurse knocks softly on the door frame and then enters the room.

"Hi," she smiles sweetly, and apologetically at the two of us. "I know it's late, but I heard voices and I didn't get a chance to check in earlier." Her eyes dart towards Christian's and then back to mine. She looks a bit taken aback by his steely gaze, but quickly recovers. He clearly isn't happy about the interruption.

She grabs my chart and moves over to the right side of the bed to check the readings on the monitor. "Are you feeling okay? Any pain or discomfort?"

"No, I'm okay," I respond with Christian still glued to my side. Clearly he doesn't find it necessary to move as the nurse looks me over.

"Okay," she smiles, not phased at all by Christian's overprotectiveness. I'm sure she's seen it all. "Well, if you need anything, just buzz. Otherwise, I'd recommend getting some more sleep if you can. The doctor will be in early in a few hours to talk to you."

"Thank you." I smile back. Christian remains quiet at my side, perturbed by her interruption. When she's gone, I turn to him smiling, but shaking my head. "She's just doing her job, Christian."

"Well she couldn't have chosen a worse moment to do so."

I roll my eyes, but feel safe knowing that he can't see the way my head is still tucked into his side, and the fact that I'm lying in a hospital bed is also hopefully a deterrent. Though, leave it to Christian to find the most inopportune moments to get turned-on and feel the need to punish me. It's different now, he would never force me into anything or punish me without my permission, but there are still moments when I challenge him that I can see the deviant lurking behind those grey eyes, just waiting for me to give him a reason and consent to do with my body as he pleases. It's a turn-on for me now too, knowing that he truly won't hurt me and that he would stop immediately if I asked, and then there's also the immense pleasure that we both usually get out of it.

I tuck my face further into his chest, feeling the heat rising in my cheeks. Now is definitely not the moment for me to be having these thoughts. I feel selfish and disgusted after what has just happened. How could I be so thoughtless? I should be a mess. I should be angry at him and in despair over the loss of the baby, not thinking about all the perverse things we do together that get me going.

"Ana." Christian's fingers tuck under my chin and lift my head so he can look at me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I reply, trying to keep my voice even. "I'm fine. Just tired. I should probably try to sleep, like the nurse said."

I can see the concerned look in his eyes. He's always so good at reading me. "Are you sure? We could–" he pauses, searching my face, "–talk more, if that's what you want? I feel like we didn't get to finish what we were discussing before the nurse came in."

He's worried I'm still upset with him, that I believe that he really did just leave me there to grieve alone. Maybe I am, and maybe I do. I love him, so much, and I know that he feels the same, but I know it's going to take some time for me to process all of my emotions, which there are quite a few of at the moment. I feel drained. I just want to go home and sleep in our own bed, but for now this is the bed I'm stuck with.

"Ana?" He says when I don't respond.

"No, I don't want to talk anymore right now. I just want to sleep."

"Okay," he replies quietly, but I can hear it in his voice that he really doesn't agree. He doesn't push though, and I'm relieved for that. "Do you want me to move?"

"No," I say too quickly, grabbing at his shirt to keep him from moving. "No, stay. Please."

"Of course." He tucks me back into his side and rests his head on top of mine.

I let the sound of his heart beating calm my own, and try to push everything from my mind for now, at least. There will be plenty of time to let my emotions wash over me when we are home. It's exhausting just thinking about all of the things I need to process and all of the undesirable conversations we are going to need to have. I know there will be more arguing and crying, at least on my end. It's not what I want, but I would be foolish to think that this would all just go away so easily. We've experienced a tragic loss, or at least I have, and dealing with it is not going to be easy. Things never are easy with Christian. I'm not so sure I would want them to be though, anyways. I like that we challenge each other, and in the end, we usually can talk things out and move on. I just hope that it will be the same this time. Deep down I'm scared that it won't. I'm terrified that we won't be able to move past this, and that I'll lose him, but for now, I can't think like that.

After only a few minutes I can tell that Christian's breathing has slowed. He's asleep. I know he's exhausted as well. Knowing him, he hasn't slept much at all since I've been here. The thought oddly calms me even more, knowing that it's because he truly cares. It would crush me if I lost him, and I know he feels the same.

After another minute or two, my own eyes start to grow heavy, and not wanting to fight it any longer, I burrow myself even deeper into his side, and allow sleep to wash over me.

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 **Until next time.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I have to say, I'm knocking these chapters out quicker than I expected. That could have something to do with being sick the past few days, and being bored as I've sat at home in bed. So, I can't make any promises that they'll continue to come that quickly after this. But I'll try. :)**

 **Enjoy!**

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"I'm not a child Christian, nor am I elderly," I proclaim, putting my foot down as Christian tries to convince me that I need to be wheeled out of the hospital to the car in the wheelchair he's just asked the nurse to bring in.

"Ana, please," he presses. I know he is just concerned, but I'm not it the mood to deal with anymore of his overbearing nature today.

When the doctor came in earlier in the morning, it was hard for me to sit there and keep a calm face as she went over everything that I had been through. I lost the baby, that was all I needed to know, and already knew. I didn't want the grisly details. It especially didn't help that Christian kept interrupting the doctor practically every two minutes to ask very detailed questions about my recovery and what sort of activities I would be able to engage in once we returned home. _Activities_. I knew he meant sex, but what I hadn't expected was him insinuating that I wasn't ready to go back to work by asking questions that were very leading in nature, like "but, she's not ready to go back to work yet, right?" or "so, she's okay, but it would probably be best if she still took it easy for a while, yes?". It was as if I wasn't sitting right there next to him, capable of discerning the doctor's instructions for myself. She told us that other than experiencing some bleeding for the next several days, as if I were on my period, and possibly some cramping, I was fine, and could return to most of my usual activities as soon as I returned home if I felt I was up for it. Most of the really heavy bleeding and passing of clots and tissue had apparently occurred already over the past couple of days while I was in the hospital, and other than a few minor cuts and bruises from being beaten by Jack, the doctor said I should be fine.

When Christian finally blatantly asked about sex, however, she added that it would actually be best to restrain from full sexual intercourse until the bleeding had completely stopped, and possibly even for another week after that if we were attempting to conceive again, if not, protected sex, she had said, should be fine in about a week. I felt him tense next to me after he heard that news, and I even flinched a bit myself at the mention of conceiving again. I knew another baby any time soon was out of the question, and I didn't expect him to think I would be ready for sex so soon after, but I also knew that sex and intimacy were his love language. Sex was the best way he knew how to express his feelings with me, and with the next few days likely to be fraught with emotion, I knew it would be hard for him to abstain.

Clearly, Christian had latched on to the words "should be fine" and "if I was up for it" more than anything else the doctor had said. He was continuing to demand that I sit down in the wheelchair. Normally he would have likely gone on further to say that if I didn't, he would have no problem carrying me out, but considering that he obviously thought I was still very fragile, and that he would also likely pass several medical professionals through the halls in the process, he decided against throwing that option out there. I use this knowledge to my advantage, and finally grab my bag that Christian had Taylor bring for me with a few options for a change of clothes and some other personal items, and then march out the door past him into the hall. I can hear him curse under his breath behind me, but not wanting want to make a scene here in the hospital, he leaves the wheelchair behind and catches up to me. He refuses, however, to let me continue carrying the bag, and snatches it out of my hands like a petulant child unwilling to share his toy with another child. Under any other circumstances I might have laughed or rolled my eyes at his absurdity, but I was growing more furious with every step closer to the car.

While Christian had focused on the doctor mentioning that my recovery time was still ultimately up to me and how I felt, meaning what he had heard was that it was up to him and how he felt – My focus had been on the doctor saying that I could return to work if Iwas ready, and then how Christian responded, making it obvious that he was going to put up a fight when it came to that conversation. There was no way I was going to let myself sit around for who knows how long Christian was determined would be suitable enough time before I returned to work. I'm in my head enough already as it is. There are still so many emotions that I need to process, and while some people like to hole up in their homes to process such experiences, I know I would go crazy if I couldn't use work as a distraction.

Even just thinking that, I know it probably isn't the healthiest coping mechanism. Distraction is often just another way of avoiding something, but for the moment, it's the one thing I am looking forward to, and if work is what I need to get me through, then I'll be damned if Christian will keep me from it.

When we get outside, Taylor is waiting by the black Audi SUV, and noticing my mood and the rush I'm in, he makes no comment, but quickly moves to the back of the car to open the door for me.

"Mrs. Grey."

"Taylor." Christian nods at him just as I'm climbing in and tosses him my bag.

For a moment, I feel bad for our sour attitudes being directed at Taylor. Normally I would smile and thank him, and even Christian has started to show his appreciation for Taylor more often, taking cues from me, but today is just not the day for pleasantries.

"Sir," Taylor responds, and after Christian slides in next to me, I hear him open the hatch behind us to put my bag in.

After that, I zone out. At some point I sense Christian move closer to me and pull my hand into his lap as he rubs soothing circles over my knuckles, but he makes no attempt at conversation, for which I'm grateful. I'm almost tempted to pull my hand away, but as I stare mindlessly out the window, seeing trees, cars, and buildings passing by in a blur, I start to calm down and try to remind myself that we just need time. It won't help for me to respond to Christian's over protectiveness with petty behavior, and while that doesn't mean I've forgiven him, it also doesn't mean that I need to make our first night home together miserable.

When we arrive at Escala and pull into the garage, a giant wave of relief washes over me. _Home._ Suddenly it feels as if every emotion just escapes from my body and all I'm left with is the desire to eat – something that I'm sure Christian will be elated to hear – take a nice, long hot bath, and then sleep in my own bed. _Our bed_.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Grey," Christian says as he reaches for my hand to help me out of the backseat.

"Happy to be home, Mr. Grey," I reply softly, smiling up at him as I stand. The returning smile he gives me and the desperate look of relief and longing in his eyes nearly has me catching my breath. _I know, I was scared too._

I wasn't sure I would make it out alive when I decided to follow Jack's instructions and meet him with the money. I wasn't sure if I would ever see Christian again. The thought terrifies me, and though there are still things we need to work through, I feel a longing for him as well, as if we've been away from each other for too long.

Taylor grabs my bag and rushes ahead to call the elevator. I realize then that he has probably been just as worried as Christian has been the last few days, and he likely went above and beyond to find me and bring Christian to me when Jack had taken Mia. I make a mental note to thank him for everything that he has done for us, and for always being there for Christian. Sawyer too, if Christian hasn't already fired him for letting me slip past his radar as I dashed off to the bank to get the money for Jack. I haven't seen him or heard Christian speak his name, so I have a feeling that is exactly what happened, and while I would likely do it again if it meant saving Mia's life, I feel bad if it cost Sawyer his job.

As we make our way to the elevator, I grab a hold of Christian's arm and lean against his side. He tugs his arm to remove it from my grasp, but then puts it around me as he pulls me even closer into him. _This feels right. This feels like home._ When we're in the elevator, that ridiculous pull is there, and I nearly burst out laughing, feeling almost hysterical from all of the emotions coursing through my body and after everything I went through, as well as from exhaustion. Surprisingly, having slept most of the past few days, I still feel as if I could crash immediately and sleep for a few more straight through.

"Something amusing you, Mrs. Grey?" Christian's eyes sparkle with mirth as he looks down at what is likely a crazed expression on my face.

"No," I say breathlessly, releasing a small laugh. "Just, you know, feeling lots of things… and, this elevator–" I cut myself off, not sure how to really finish. My brain is a bit muddled and I'm finding it hard to articulate what I mean.

Luckily, Christian understands. "I know," he responds, on a deep sigh and shakes his head. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips and suddenly I want nothing more than for him to kiss me, and then, as if he can read my mind, he does. He swiftly pulls me into his arms and kisses me desperately, his lips molding perfectly to mine. Taylor remains politely facing forward in front of us, and I'm thankful for his ability to be discreet as a small whimper escapes my mouth. Unfortunately, before I even have time to really respond in kind, the elevator doors are opening, and Christian is pulling away and leading me out.

"We can finish that later," Christian begins but then stops, an odd, almost worried expression falling over his face. "I mean," he pauses again, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. "If you want… if that's what you want?"

He's apprehensive. I can tell he's desperate for connection and intimacy, but I know he must be worried about pushing me too fast, too soon after everything I've been through. He can be a real dunce sometimes, especially when it comes to making decisions for me without consulting with me first, but he can also be very considerate and loving as well. His devotion to me constantly takes my breath away. I know there isn't anything he wouldn't do for me.

I'm not sure how soon I will be ready to be intimate with him again either. I feel like my emotions are tugging me in so many different directions. All I can do is just react based off of how I feel in the moment, and at the moment, I very much enjoyed his kiss.

"I'd like that." I give him a small smile and the relief that washes over him is immediately evident as his face and shoulders relax.

"Me too." He smiles back and reaches out for my hand. "Now, food. That hospital drivel they call edible is appalling."

"God, yes. Please." I groan, suddenly remembering how famished I am. Christian turns to look back at me as he leads me to the kitchen, his brow quirked, and a roguish look in his eyes. I'm not sure if it's because of my dramatic consent to eat food, or because of the sound I made after, which definitely resembled similar sounds I've made in _other_ situations.

"I like the sound of that," he states, being deliberately vague as to which he is referring to; my agreeing to eat, or the carnal noise that escaped my mouth. My bet is on both, but with a definite sway towards the latter.

Mrs. Jones must have been informed very accurately of the timing of our arrival, as there is a steaming pot of spaghetti sauce and meatballs resting on the stove, a large bowl of pasta that looks as if it has just been tossed in butter is on the counter next to it, and the timer on the oven has about 2 minutes left on it, and from the smell, I know that it's garlic bread. Yet, Mrs. Jones is nowhere to be seen.

"I think Mrs. Jones deserves a raise," I remark, taking in a big whiff of the delicious smells wafting around the room. Spaghetti and meatballs sounds perfect and comforting.

"Mrs. Jones gets paid plenty," Christian counters, "but yes, she is good, isn't she?"

"Yes." I nod in agreement, but am too distracted to say much else as I attempt to make a beeline for the oven to take out the garlic bread, but Christian beats me to it.

"No." He makes a "tsking" noise and then laughs at my eagerness. "While I'm very happy to know that you are hungry and can't wait to eat, you will sit and I will serve you."

I frown halfheartedly but then say, "yes, sir," and quickly make my way around to the other side of the counter and take a seat at one of the stools.

"Not at the table?" He questions, looking over his shoulder at me as he sets the hot pan of bread down on top of the stove. He takes the oven mitt off and then proceeds to plate two servings of the spaghetti and meatballs. He finishes each plate off with a piece of garlic bread, grabs some silverware and napkins, and then places one plate down in front of me and the other in front of the stool to my left.

"No, this is good." I smile and watch him retreat to grab some wine, I assume.

"Okay." He opens a bottle of red, but I can't tell what kind from where I'm sitting, and then opens the cupboard to grab down a glass. "Do you want some?" He turns, mid-reach for another glass.

"No. Just water please." He reaches for a water glass instead and then after pouring his drink and mine, returns to sit next to me.

"I probably shouldn't mix alcohol with the pain meds the doctor gave me anyways." I shrug as I start eating.

"Are you in pain?" Christian's head snaps in my direction and he frantically looks me over for any signs of discomfort. "I thought those were just for emergencies, in case it gets really bad?"

"I'm okay," I assure him. "And they are, if ibuprofen isn't enough, but just in case…" I trail off, wanting to do more eating and less talking.

I can tell that he's not entirely convinced but he turns back anyways and takes a sip of his wine. "Please let me know if you're in pain. Don't play the tough girl, Ana. If you're hurting, take the medication the doctor gave you."

"I will."

"Thank you." He puts his glass down and starts eating.

After dinner, we retreat to the bedroom, and Christian starts running a bath for me. I feel much better after eating, and can't wait to sink into the steaming water. My body aches all over, and while I probably could go for one of the Vicodin the doctor gave me, or at least half of one, I don't like how drowsy and nauseous they usually make me feel. I know I told Christian I would take them if the pain was too much, but it's really not that awful, and I know he'll over react if I tell him I need one. I don't want him to start getting overzealous again with his protective instincts like he did at the hospital.

"Can I join you?" Christian asks as he watches me undress. I can see him flinch just then, and the muscles in his jaw tense when he sees the scrapes and bruising on my body, but he remains stoic and waits for my response.

"I might bleed into the water a bit," I disclose, and wrap my arms around my body, suddenly feeling very exposed and defenseless, but I know that it would be a comfort to have him wrapped around me in the tub, rather than be left there alone with my own somber thoughts.

"Oh, Ana," Christian sighs and then takes two long strides before he's standing in front of me and wrapping his arms around me. "You know I don't care about that." He puts his fingers under my chin and lifts my head so that I'm staring up into his sad grey eyes. "Please, let me be with you. Let me hold you."

I nod, but don't break contact with his eyes. He tugs my chin up a little further and then plants a sweet kiss on my lips before pulling back just a step to undress himself. I watch him, unashamedly. When he's finished, I take his hand and lead him to the bath tub, which has just about filled to the top.

I step in and sink down, and Christians does the same. The water quickly rises and spills over the top. "Oops," I say as I peak over the edge, hoping we didn't make too much of a mess.

"It's fine," he says unconcerned and then settles in behind me, urging me with his hands to do the same, and pulls me back against his chest. His arms wrap around me when I do, and his legs cradle me in between his own.

I sigh contentedly and lay my head back against his shoulder. We fall silent for what seems like forever, simply enjoying the feel of the steaming water lapping against our skin, our bodies nestled together, as Christian runs his hands languidly up and down my arms and legs. What eventually stirs me is the feeling of his erection stirring against my backside. It surprises me, but I enjoy the feeling, finding it comforting somehow, as if it's a sign that nothing has changed and that eventually, we will get through this. I shift my body, not in an attempt to start something, as I'm quite content at the moment just enjoying the sensation of him behind me, but just to acknowledge that I feel him and that I like it. Unfortunately, Christian interprets my movement the wrong way.

"I'm so sorry, Ana." His voice sounds pained and I can feel him trying to pull back. "God, I'm so sorry. What's wrong with me?"

I quickly scoot forward, but only to give myself enough room to turn around and face him. When I do, I can see the despair in his eyes, his brow scrunched up and his mouth drawn tight. "What's wrong?" I reach out to grab his hand but he jerks away. "Christian, please. It's okay." I ignore his attempts to evade my touch and swiftly move into his lap before he has time to object, and then place my hands on either side of his face, tilting it up so I can look at him.

"I shouldn't–" he falters, shaking his head and trying to avoid my eyes. "I'm so sorry." He shakes his head again but finally lifts his eyes up to meet mine. He places his own hands on either side of my face as well, staring deeply into my eyes, but then slowly lowers his gaze, along with his hands until they rest at my shoulders. "Look at you," he cries, his anger bubbling just under the surface of his distress.

I look down at my chest and see that his fingers are just lightly tracing over some bruising and scrapes. I don't remember Jack hitting me there, but it could have been from when I fell to the ground. "It's okay. It's not that bad, really." I grab both his hands in mine and squeeze them to try and draw his attention away from the marks marring my body.

"It's not okay," he shouts, finally allowing his fury to spill over. "You're sitting here covered in bruises, and my fucking dick gets hard and starts poking you in the back like I'm some sort of insensitive fiend who can't control himself!"

"Christian–" I start, but he cuts me off.

"Please, don't. Please don't say it's okay again." He hangs his head on a deep sigh, and I can see his face pinched together in anguish. "It's not okay. It's not okay," he repeats over and over like a mantra.

The sight of him falling to pieces brings tears to my eyes, and all the emotions I had been trying to keep buried for the evening start climbing their way back to the surface. _I can't do this now. I don't want to do this now._ I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to keep myself calm. I haven't seen Christian this broken since he thought I was going to leave him again and he fell to his knees in submission. It breaks my heart, but I know that I have to stay strong. I take a deep breath and am just about to open my eyes when I feel his hands gently rest against my stomach.

"And this–" his voice is strangled. I flinch and my eyes snap open to see him staring at my stomach right where his hands are placed. His brow is furrowed and his eyes are glassy from unshed tears. "How could I be so thoughtless after you've… after you just lost–" and he stops, not able to complete the sentence.

"Christian," I mutter his name softly, afraid that if I speak any louder I won't be able to hide the pain in my voice. Tears are falling freely down my face now.

He finally looks up at me, his own unshed tears finally spilling over, and before I know it, he has me pulled tightly against him. I really can't control myself any longer as everything I'd been trying to keep bottled up comes spilling out. My body starts trembling as a loud sob escapes my throat. I bury my face in his neck as one of his hands comes up to cradle the back of my head and the other keeps a tight grip around my shoulders. I feel as if my body is losing control as I start to shake even more, but then I realize that it's Christian who's also started trembling. We sit there for a while as the water begins to cool, neither of us making any attempt to speak or to move, both too overwhelmed by our emotions to do much other than cry in each others' arms.

Eventually though, His arm around my back tightens and the one on my head drops and supports my bottom, pulling me closer against him. Before I can protest, he's standing up and stepping out of the tub. I'm not sure how he manages, I know my own legs wouldn't support me right now if I tried to stand, but he doesn't falter. Without much effort, he keeps me wrapped around his body with one arm and reaches out with the other to grab a towel and drapes it around my body and over my shoulders. A few errant tears are still trickling down my face, but the sobs that were wracking by body have stopped. I hear Christian sniff now and again, but assume he too has calmed down. I glance at my face in the mirror over his shoulder as we pass through the bathroom and into the bedroom. I look a mess. My face is swollen and red, and wet from my tears. I can't see Christian's face just yet, but I'm not sure I could handle it if he looks the same way I do. He's never really cried before, not like this. It hurts to to see him like this.

In the bedroom, Christian lowers me so that I'm sitting on the edge of the bed. I feel very lethargic, as if I couldn't move my body even if I wanted to, but with Christian taking such reverent care of me, there's no need. He slowly moves the towel over my body, drying me, careful not to rub too hard over the areas where I'm bruised and scraped. If I weren't so wrecked, it would likely turn me on, how loving and gentle he's being, but as it is, I don't think I could manage any other feelings right now. I'm completely spent. My head feels so full and tight from all the crying. I want nothing more than to curl up under the covers, cradled in his arms, and never move again.

It's so quiet, not a word passing between the two of us, but there's no need. Just the sound of the towel sweeping across my skin, and a sniff here and there. Eventually, when he's deemed me good and dry, he pulls back the covers and gestures for me to get under. He does a quick pat down of his own body with the towel and then tosses it towards the bathroom before climbing in next to me. He faces me on his side, and runs his fingers around my face, rubbing soothing circles on my temples and under my eyes and over my cheeks. It feels so good after crying so hard. As his hands begin to travel lower and he starts circling some of my bruises again, I place my hand over his to stop him. I can see the pain on his face again.

"No more," I whisper, squeezing his hand and using my other hand to tip his chin and draw his eyes up to mine. "No more crying. I can't, not tonight." I plead with him with my eyes to let it go for now, and he does.

"I know," he murmurs softly. "Me neither."

He places a tender kiss against my lips and then pulls me into his arms, wrapping his leg over my hip to pull me even closer. My head ducks down to bury into his neck and he nuzzles his nose into my hair. I am entirely cocooned in him, and it's exactly what I need. Together our breathing slows and our bodies relax into one another even more, making it hard to tell one from the other. We are two broken pieces that fit together, not entirely whole just yet; I know it will be a long road to recovery, but I if we can get through this, we will eventually make it back to being whole again.

* * *

 **Until next time.**


End file.
